Chapter 35

Nightfall.

The dishes were already served, the table laden with a feast.

Mu Gesheng paid no mind to formalities; having happily eaten all afternoon, he had already said that anyone hungry could just start eating. Wubi seemed to have come specifically to mooch this meal, and as soon as the table was set, he was already digging in. It wasn’t just him—Huang Niu was also devouring the food with gusto. The two of them swept through the dishes like a whirlwind, even glaring at each other over a piece of cherry pork.

The fragrance lingered in the courtyard all afternoon, and An Ping’s appetite was whetted. But before he could even pick up his chopsticks, Mu Gesheng called him into the kitchen. "Happy New Year."

The other smiled warmly at him and handed over a red envelope.

Anping was a bit surprised, his mouth opening slightly, momentarily at a loss for words.

Mu Gesheng placed the red envelope into his hand. "It's only natural for children to receive New Year's money. Since you encountered quite a few evil spirits last year, you should suppress them even more."

Inside the red envelope was an account card, with "Heaven and Earth Bank" printed on its surface.

"When the ghost market opens in a while, you can go browse with my daughter," Mu Gesheng said. "You understand the rules of the ghost market, right? Except for the stalls with blue lanterns lit, you can swipe freely."

It was the first time Anping had received such a red envelope, and for a moment, he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. But Muge Sheng was unusually generous. Just as he was about to say something auspicious, Chai Suxin spoke up from the side: “Keep it.”

The other was steaming a pot, his eyes and brows softened by the light and smoke, “He’s just offering borrowed flowers to the Buddha.”

Muge Sheng retorted confidently, “I call it a virtuous elder.”

Virtuous or not aside, the old charlatan who had spent the whole year disrespecting his elders finally looked a bit like one. Muge Sheng used a guokui to pick up a piece of steamed pork and handed it to Anping. “Eat something to fill your stomach first. Those two starving ghosts outside, Anping, you might not be able to snatch from them.”

The guokui had just come out of the oven, crispy with a pepper and salt seasoning, leaving a lingering aftertaste. An Ping licked his lips and stepped out of the kitchen. Back then, he could see it in his dreams but never taste it, staring blankly at the kitchen day after day. Now, he had finally waited for this New Year's Eve.

The small kitchen in the Ginkgo Study could probably be considered half a New Oriental; most of the people who had cooked there were quite skilled—except for Mu Gesheng.

An Ping looked at the table full of dishes. Compared to Song Wentong’s heavy oil and spicy flavors, Chai Shuxin’s cooking was clearly lighter and more health-conscious. There were four or five varieties just in the stewed pots. In front of him was a dish of honey-glazed pork, with large pieces of dried scallops at the bottom of the plate. The ham was tender and flaky, and the soy-braised sauce was sprinkled with a handful of pine nuts. The dish beside it seemed to be scallions braised with dried shrimp, but only the broth remained, having been eaten.

He wasn’t sure about Ubi’s taste preferences but noticed quite a few sweet dishes on the table. From what he remembered, Mu Gesheng wasn’t picky about food. Could it be that Chai Shuxin had a sweet tooth?

“What are you standing there for? Are you still going to eat or not?” Wubi pointed at the plate of yangmei dumplings in front of him. “If you don’t eat, I’m taking it away.”

Anping snapped back to reality and quickly reached for his chopsticks.

The room was filled with rising heat, much like those nights years ago drinking under the lamp—a taste of old friendships.

After the meal, it was already midnight. Muge Sheng somehow managed to pull an electric wire from somewhere, and several people gathered in the courtyard to watch TV—it seemed to be the Spring Festival Gala. Anping looked at the man wearing a red hat on the screen and asked, “Who is this?”

“He seemed to be a minister of foreign affairs in his previous life.” Wubi sat about eight zhang away from Muge Sheng, head down playing a game. “This is Fengdu TV station.”

Anping was momentarily stunned, then sneezed. “Aren’t you cold?” He looked toward Muge Sheng. “Half-immortal, can we go inside and take a look?”

“The signal’s bad inside.” Muge Sheng cracked sunflower seeds. “It’s fine, it’ll warm up soon.”

“What do you mean?” Anping didn’t understand, but everyone was busy with their own things and ignored him. Huangniu was in the kitchen helping bundle firewood and make dumplings, poking his head out the window. “Young Master An, do you want to come in and warm up for a bit?”

Anping couldn’t stand the chaotic scenes on the TV any longer and went to help in the kitchen. Speaking of which, since Chai Shuxin came back, he seemed to have never left the kitchen. “Ling Shuzi,” Anping said while washing his hands, “aren’t you going to eat something?”

Chai Shuxin paused in his movements. “It’s nothing.”

Huang Niu laughed heartily and patted his shoulder. “In this courtyard, besides you and Wuchangzi, it doesn’t really matter whether the others eat or not. The main thing is that Tiansuanzi has a sweet tooth. Just wait, there’ll be three more meals tonight.”

Anping was dumbfounded. Three more meals?

But looking at the kitchen, with pots and stoves full to the brim, it didn’t seem like they were about to close up shop anytime soon. Chai Shuxin dry-fried the Sichuan peppercorns on the spatula, releasing a burst of aroma. There were three large basins of filling alone. Anping recognized celery and yellow chives. “What’s in this basin?”

“Water chestnuts and corn, a sweet filling.” Huangniu said, “There’s also a basin of brown sugar dumplings coming up.”

Brown sugar dumplings—Anping had never heard of them before. It sounded like Mugesheng’s own dark culinary creation. Hesitantly, he asked, “Dumplings with sweet filling? Are they good?”

“Radish and greens, everyone has their own taste.” Huangniu smiled, “There are plenty of people who love sweet flavors.”

After a moment, the dumplings were placed into the pot, and a drumbeat echoed through the courtyard. Anping followed the sound and asked, "What’s playing on the TV?"

“The Five Directions Lion Dance,” Muge Sheng explained. “It’s a dance and music form from the Tang Dynasty, almost lost to time. After the founding of the nation, the Fengdu Propaganda Department recorded it on videotape. Now it’s selling like hotcakes at the ghost market, with versions for fitness exercises and square dancing.”

There were so many points to poke fun at that Anping didn’t know where to start. He couldn’t help but wonder what the Fengdu ghost market must be like nowadays. Do ghosts really need fitness routines? Are the demons and spirits hopping around, belting out ‘Burn My Calories’?

That would truly be a chaotic dance of demons.

Someone knocked on the window, and Wubi poked his head out. "Bring me some food, quick, damn it, I'm about to die again."

Wubi’s gaming skills were really terrible—either he was about to die or already on the way to dying. Anping glanced at his screen and confirmed there was no hope. "Can't you come in and get it?"

"The Rakshasa is inside. I'm not going in."

Anping was puzzled. "You’re really that scared of him?"

Wubi had all his attention on the game and casually said, "Why don't you try fighting him... damn!" Then someone shot him in the head, and he almost dropped his phone. Seeing the boy about to explode again on the spot, Anping quickly pulled out his phone. "How about this, I'll play a round with you."

"No more playing," Wubi shook his head. "Are you free on the fifteenth day of the first lunar month?"

"Why?"

"Didn't the old geezer give you some New Year's money?" Wubi said, "The ghost market opens on the fifteenth, I'll take you clubbing."

Anping suspected he was hearing things: "What did you say?"

"Going clubbing." Wubi clicked his tongue, "If you don’t want to go, fine. If I hadn’t taken you, you wouldn’t get in at all since you’re underage."

Anping: "...I’m an adult now, thank you."

"Tch, then you just won’t grow any taller."

Anping didn’t know how much resentment Wubi had about his height. The boy wasn’t short; perhaps it was because he was poisoned daily by Mugesheng’s words, making him seem like he had a severe milk addiction. Wu Zixu wasn’t short either. Given his genes, as long as his wife wasn’t a Thumbelina, with Wubi’s current height, he would definitely surpass 1.8 meters in the future.

Then he remembered that this kid seemed to have only graduated from kindergarten and indeed didn’t know much about genetics.

Anping served Wubi a plate of caramelized taro, only to be scorned: “Why do you like such girly sweet stuff?”

“I thought you liked eating it.” Anping bit into a piece. “I noticed Ling Shuzi made quite a few sweet dishes tonight.”

Despite the disdain, when it came to eating, Wubi took the plate and mumbled indistinctly, "The old immortal isn't picky, and he likes sweets too."

Anping noticed his choice of words: "Too?"

"You didn't know?"

Wubi suddenly realized, then put on an expression as if watching a good show. "Otherwise, who do you think finishes all the food in such a big kitchen? Feeding pigs?"

Anping thought about the two whirlwind figures at the dinner table earlier and decided it was best not to pick on the brat’s language mistakes.

Wubiyou had been telling him some strange and curious tales from the Fengdu ghost market. As they chatted, the dumplings were ready, and just then there was a knock at the door. “He sure knows how to pick the moment,” Wubiyou raised an eyebrow. “Every year, it’s always the first batch of dumplings.”

Mu Gesheng was fully absorbed in the TV, ears deaf to the world outside. Chai Suxin and Huang Niu were busy bringing out the dumplings, but in the end, it was Wubiyou who nudged Anping to answer the door. As soon as it opened, Caihua burst in with a “bang,” splattering Anping’s head and face. Laughter followed: “Happy New Year! Wishing you wealth and prosperity! Congratulations on your fortune!”

Standing outside was a strikingly beautiful young woman, red lips and a slender waist, a pair of long legs revealed beneath a short skirt, one foot in high heels planted on the doorstep, making her almost a head taller than Anping. “You must be Anping, right?” she said, pulling him over like an old friend, her voice tinged with a Beijing accent. “Not bad looking, huh, man!”

“Why the hell are you wearing high heels again?” Wubi looked up at the other. “Damn, you even dyed your hair pink?”

“The pinker the hair, the harder I hit. I’m a champion now. I’ll take you to steal kills and rank up later.” The girl pulled a red envelope from her pocket. “Here’s your New Year’s money, take it, man.”

Then she glanced at Anping. “Came in a rush this time, didn’t prepare any gifts. I’ll treat you to a rave at Ghost Market later.”

This girl was ridiculously trendy, speaking with a lively sparkle and an indescribable carefree charm. Though she was a head taller than him, Anping couldn’t help but feel a flicker of romantic thoughts. “Nice to meet you. May I ask your name?”

Wubi looked at him with a strange expression, as if holding back laughter. "The old bastard didn’t tell him anything."

“No worries, no worries, meeting is fate, we’re all good brothers.” The girl slapped his shoulder carelessly. “I’m starving. Has my brother finished cooking?”

Just then, the kitchen door swung open, and Huang Niu came out carrying a plate. “Tiansuanzi, if you please, make some room!”

“Dinner’s served!”

A round table was set up in the courtyard, red lanterns hanging high, and An Ping strangely noticed that the air around was no longer cold.

He pondered quietly; just now, the young lady had given a red envelope to Wubi, perhaps she was an elder—then Mu Gesheng spoke up beside him, "The old custom, giving red envelopes to celebrate the New Year."

"Alright then." The young lady snapped her fingers, "Which tune would you like to hear this year?"

"You've worked hard tonight." Mu Gesheng looked at Chai Shuxin and joked, "What would the master chef like to hear?"

Chai Suxin took a sip of tea. "As long as you like it."

"Then let's stick with the West Chamber." Mu Gesheng picked up his chopsticks and tapped the cup. "Let's have a scene from The Matchmaker."

No sooner said than done, the young lady flicked the napkin with a flourish, her eyes sparkling. "Miss, oh Miss, how graceful you are—"

Shifting into a long tone, she then looked at Chai Suxin. "Junrui, oh Junrui, your refined talent—"

"Charm needs no thousand gold to buy,

The moon shifts, flower shadows, the jade beauty arrives,

Tonight, let's settle the debts of longing,

A pair of lovers, seizing the moment in their hearts..."

This girl had a playful glint in her eyes and brows. Anping watched her, laughing heartily, and even Wubi chuckled out loud. Huangniu coughed harshly, "Oh my heavens! Xingxiuzi, you better hurry up and get yourself married, stop wreaking havoc on the country here!"

Anping was still laughing, but after just a few laughs, he suddenly froze.

Wait a minute, what did Huangniu just call her?

Xingxiuzi??!?

The entire Anping was petrified, and Mu Gesheng seemed to be waiting just for this moment. The courtyard immediately echoed with his and Wubi’s maniacal laughter.

“Old Five was raised by Old Two,” Mu Gesheng said, coughing and laughing at the same time. “Old Two grew up soaked in Guanshan Yue, surrounded by makeup and powder. The two of them are cut from the same cloth.”

Anping knew Song Wentong’s background, yet was still shocked for a long time. A face like a lotus, a waist like a willow, a beauty like the moon—handsome and charming, with a killer gleam in his flirtatious eyes—was the women’s friend raising a cross-dressing boss?

Had this thing been trained in the art of starting a family?

Every dish on the table came with an explanation. Zhu Yinxiao practically dove headfirst into the sugar jar, dipping red sugar dumplings into honey. An Ping watched with a toothache; no wonder the surroundings no longer felt cold. As a descendant of the Vermilion Bird, the element of fire was his domain— even the lanterns shone brighter, filling the entire courtyard with warmth.

Zhu Yinxiao grinned as he accepted the red envelope from Mu Gesheng. "Thank you kindly." He turned to An Ping, "Sorry about that, man. I'll treat you to a drink next time."

He had a background in opera; earlier, he had been speaking with a carefully controlled tone, lively and charming while conversing with An Ping. Now, he let his voice loose, speaking with a husky edge that carried an indescribable, carefree charm.

Beauty in the bones, blazing like fire.

In Anping’s memory, Zhu Yinxiao was still a multicolored feather duster, crawling chaotically through the vegetable patch, teased by Mu Gesheng. He stared at the young woman before him, and as a grown man who had looked for a long time, he really couldn’t see a trace of the past.

Time truly is a merciless butcher’s knife.

Zhu Yinxiao should come every year to pay his New Year’s respects, chatting warmly with Mu Gesheng, exchanging family gossip mixed with hearty laughter. Even Chai Shuxin was close to him, her expression filled with concern.

Anping recalled the Ginkgo Studio master’s love for Xikun opera; it was tradition to perform a couple of pieces during the New Year at the Ginkgo Book Studio. That year, when Chai Shuxin stayed at the studio for the New Year for the first time, Mu Gesheng also sang a segment from The West Chamber.

From the television came an old tune from some bygone dynasty. Mu Gesheng and Zhu Yinxiao began a drinking contest, moving from the table all the way up to the rooftop. Chai Shuxin opened the door, and shadows flickered all along the street.

The early night of New Year's Eve was quiet and still; people gathered at home for reunion dinners. But as midnight approached, those sated with food and drink spilled out onto the streets, taking advantage of their tipsy moods to chat and joke. There was no moon that night, yet the entire city was ablaze with lively lights.

A yellow ox carried a large pot out of the kitchen and set it down at the entrance of the City God Temple, beginning to serve porridge. The glutinous rice was mixed with longan, lotus seeds, honey dates, and kidney beans. Children holding lanterns clustered around the pot, their round little faces flushed and joyful.

The line waiting for porridge on the steps grew longer and longer. Wubi tossed a ladle to Anping. "Come help."

Although the City God Temple's incense offerings had dwindled, the New Year's Eve blessing porridge was always popular, and people loved to come here to seek good fortune. When An Ping was young, he celebrated the New Year with his parents; his mother, halfway through a game of mahjong, would see that midnight was near and specifically drive over to pick up the porridge.

At that time, he didn't understand the meaning behind the bowl of porridge, only remembering that it snowed that night and the air was filled with the fragrance of honey dates.

The pot of porridge was quickly finished, and An Ping and Wubi were carrying the large pot back to the kitchen when the other suddenly asked him, "Do you know the Ginkgo Study?"

"What about it?"

“When my father was still alive, I heard him say that the Ginkgo Study was built within a temple. Every New Year, monks would distribute blessing porridge, and at midnight, the most revered abbot in the temple would strike the bell to pray for blessings. People would sit on the long steps, drinking porridge while listening to the bell.”

An Ping thought to himself, I know, I saw it with my own eyes.

That year’s blessing porridge was still a medicinal recipe made with firewood bundles. Song Wentong had been boiling it all afternoon, but Mu Gesheng and Zhu Yinxiao secretly drank more than half the pot. The two were chased all over town by Song Wentong wielding a ladle, and in the end, Wu Zixu had to pay several restaurant kitchens to catch up with the porridge distribution that night.

The kitchen door was pushed open, Huang Niu walked in, carrying out a small pot from under the stove, steaming hot blessing porridge inside.

The other party winked at them and said, "Saved it secretly, drink it while it's hot."

"I never said you couldn't drink." Chai Suxin's voice came from outside the window, and the other knocked on the glass, "Come out, it's almost midnight."

The oxherd trembled slightly, forcing a smile, "Sure enough, you can't hide anything from your sharp eyes..."

Before the words had even fallen, a streak of fire shot up into the sky, igniting a burst of fireworks. Cheers rose and fell along the street. Anping poked his head out the window and saw Zhu Yinxiao standing on the rooftop, holding a sparrow feather. The feathers were lit one by one, swirling upward like golden threads before bursting with a bang.

Wubi nudged him aside, their heads pressed together in one windowpane. "Is Zhuyexiao burning his fur again?"

"Does Xingxiuzi do this every year?" Anping bumped him with his arm. "Fireworks and firecrackers are banned, city management, and you're just watching?"

"Firecrackers are banned in the city, but no one said anything about burning fur." Wubi rolled his eyes. "Not my problem."

Chai Shuxin stood by the window, looking up for a long time, then said to Anping, "There's one last pot on the stove, please take it out."

Only then did Anping notice there was a single stove in the corner, simmering a copper pot. "What is this?"

Wubi was still lying outside the window. Upon hearing this, he snorted, "The old, stubborn little stove."

Curious, he opened it to take a look. Inside the copper pot was a mixed stew of meat and vegetables, layered one upon another. Egg dumplings and prawns adorned the edges, with ham and shiitake mushrooms spread at the bottom. The aroma wafted up, both familiar and strange.

It was a Yipin hot pot.